[ The god halted as fingertips caught in his own. His gaze shifted between them, then lifted to eyes more vibrant than his own. Silent, he listened, lips parted. The chill breeze loosed stray wisps of white hair, brushing them against cheek and sweater.

Something hung in his chest, restlessly still; the heart that beat at Sleep's beckon, he supposed, now wretchedly human. His gaze flickered lower, the shape of lips behind an ever-present mask. And yet, bit by bit, he felt he was coming to know the man in a way cloth nor scale could not conceal.

The Forsaken's lips curved in a smile, placid but something apologetic hidden in the corners. ] Does it? [ He wondered aloud, the cadence of his voice rich with humor close to a tease. ]

I hope you take no offense at my prying, friend. [ His hand turned in the assassin's, slipping free to trail one fingertip along the other's jawline. His attention returned to the other's eyes, keen even as his voice remained soft. ]

I pray you find what might fulfill you.

[ The moment was fleeting; his hand returned to his side just as soon. ] At the least, you may breathe easier that you are free of them and free to hunt for yourself.